What Evil Visits Nightly
by Vanessa Sgroi
Summary: Based on the outstanding Cal and Niko Leandros series written by Rob Thurman. Summary: Cal is used to having nightmares. But these--these are different. And vicious. Rated T for swearing.
1. Nightmares

I've recently read the Cal and Niko Leandros sci-fi series by Rob Thurman and simply adore the books. I highly recommend them to anyone and everyone. So enamored am I with the Leandros brothers, I thought I'd give my hand a try at a little Cal/Niko fic.

Set between the first book "Nightlife" and the second book "Moonshine".

**Summary:** Cal is used to having nightmares. But these--these are different. And vicious.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the characters. They all belong to the lovely and talented Rob Thurman.

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**What Evil Visits Nightly**

By: Vanessa Sgroi

I love to sleep. That's the long and short of it—I love the oblivion of sleep. Hell, my older brother, Niko, swears that I've practically made it into an art form. Performance art to be exact. And I think he may be right—at least considering some of the positions I wake up in.

So the warm embrace of sleep is often a welcome respite. Except for the last five nights.

The last five nights I've had nightmares. That in itself isn't new. Having once walked in Tumulus—Auphe hell—is reason enough to suffer night terrors, not to mention the up close and personal encounters I've recently had with all manner of monsters either out to kill me or possess me. These nightmares, though, these are different. More horrific as far as I'm concerned. Because they're about my brother. More specifically, these particular night terrors graphically depict Niko's death. His violent, gory, bloody, sometimes even fiery, and always agonizing death. His guttural screaming haunts me even after I wake. And every night, the nightmares propel me out of bed and drive me to my knees in front of the toilet where the treacherous heaving eventually gives way to desperate prayers that Niko remains asleep. Any kind of restful sleep for me has become a thing of the past. I miss it. My body craves it.

Until a few minutes ago, I actually thought I was doing a remarkable job of hiding my distress from Niko though I guess I should have known better. I'd just sat down at our rickety kitchen table with a coveted bowl of stale Lucky Charms—though I wasn't particularly hungry—when Niko stalked into the kitchen. He yanked the bowl of sugary cereal I was mostly just toying with out from under my nose and replaced it with some sort of whole grain oatmeal bran rock . . . err . . . muffin.

I automatically groaned. "Oh, joy. Tasteless roughage for breakfast. Can I at least have a beer with it to wash it down?" I poked at the brownish lump with my finger.

Not bothering to verbally reply, Niko plunked a glass of nasty-looking green liquid down in front of me. It looked like liquefied grass. Hell, knowing my brother's penchant for _health_ food, it probably WAS liquefied grass. I picked up the glass and chanced a sniff, grimacing and shuddering dramatically at the affront to my over-developed sense of smell.

"Talk."

"Talk? About what?" I half grinned up at him. "This super good breakfast you just shoved in front of me. Hey—they say if you can't say anything good, don't say any—"

"Cal." Niko's no-nonsense growl was a warning.

It was a warning I purposely chose to ignore. "You know, Cyrano, you really should expand your breakfast horizons. There's nothing like a good bowl of Lucky—"

Faster than I could blink, I found myself on the cracked linoleum floor as Niko hooked a foot around a chair leg and sent us both careening backward. He maintained a grip on the chair so the fall wasn't hard enough for me to get hurt, but it was definitely meant to get my attention.

"Tell me what's going on." Niko's voice was low and intense; shot through with genuine concern.

"What? Nothing's going on. I was trying to eat breakfast." I knew my brother would spot the lies immediately; he always did. Maintaining a poker face, especially around Niko, has never been my forte. His gaze missed nothing. He always told me it was because I had tells the size of Texas.

My brother crossed his arms and widened his stance, his eyes never leaving my face. I resisted the urge to squirm.

"You think I haven't noticed? You're haggard and worn out. I could fit all of my weapons AND yours in the bags under your eyes. As if those clues weren't enough, you've hardly eaten anything for the last four days. Not even your beloved chili cheese dogs." This last was said with a sniff of disgust.

"What are you talking about—I eat."

"No—you push the food around on your plate to make it look like you eat."

"Well, considering what you tend to cook for dinner . . ."

"Cal." It was clear that Niko's patience had come to an end. Usually when that happened, it translated into some extra measures of torture that my brother called "working out".

As gracefully as I could from my awkward position, I rolled over and scrambled to my feet. On some level, I'd known all along there was no avoiding my brother's interrogation and lying definitely wasn't going to be an option.

I stared at my feet, noticing that the rather dingy sock on my left foot had a hole in the toe. I briefly contemplated putting a hole in the other sock just so they matched and brought a little symmetry to my world but decided that that might result in Niko finding a needle and some thread and making me darn the damn things as some valuable weird-ass home economics lesson. In fact, he'd probably find every holey sock in the entire apartment—all belonging to me of course—and make me darn every last one of them. I shuddered at the thought.

"Cal!" Niko didn't do exasperated, he did deep-down brotherly concern and it got to me every time. I finally lifted my head and looked him in the eye. And suddenly, I wanted to tell him. Wanted to share the burden and ease some of the weight from my shoulders.

"Niko, I . . . I . . ."

_Don't._

The word was just a whisper snaking through my mind.

"I've been hav—"

_DON'T._

The word slammed through my head with the roar of a freight train.

"AHHHH!" I closed my eyes and fisted my hands at my temples as white-hot pain streaked through my head. So great was the pressure and pain, I half expected my eyeballs to be ejected forcefully despite my closed eyelids.

"Cal!"

I could only manage a whispered "Niko" in response to my brother's concerned shout. Then my eyes rolled back in my head and I collapsed in a heap at Niko's feet.

TBC . . .


	2. Diversionary Tactics

When I came to, I was lying across our ratty, fourth-hand brown couch in the living room with my feet hanging over the edge. Niko was standing over me, and I blinked a few times to bring his face into focus. His expression was impassive and to anyone else he probably would have looked rather indifferent, but I could see the concern etched there. I thought about sitting up but decided for the moment that it required too much effort to get vertical. I settled for a mumbled, "How long was I out?"

"Three or four minutes. No more."

I grunted and raised a hand to pinch the bridge of my nose. Some tiny evil sonuvabitch was choreographing a maniacal version of "Stomp" in my head.

"Cal, what's going on?"

"I'm probably just coming down with something."

"You rarely, if ever, get sick."

"Yeah, well—you know—for every rule, I'm the exception."

I flinched when I felt Niko's palm ghost across my forehead checking for a fever despite his assertion that I never get sick.

"Wha time is it?"

"7:43 in the morning."

I silently bemoaned the fact that under normal circumstances I'd likely still be in bed asleep and probably snoring if you listened to my brother. He swears I snore--loudly. I strenuously disagree with that assessment.

"Cal, I want to know what . . ."

With an overly-loud groan, I sat up, planting my socked feet on the floor. "Guess I should go get ready for that meeting." As a diversionary tactic it was sorely lacking, but with the percussive beats resounding in my head at the moment, it was the best I could do.

"You're not going."

"Why not? I thought you said you wanted me to get more _involved_ in the business. You know—be more Robin to your Batman. More Scooby-Doo to your Shaggy."

I noticed the slight clench to Niko's jaw and knew I was pushing his buttons. This was something at which I excelled. Just ask Goodfellow . . . or Promise. If they offered a degree in _Pushing Your Brother's Buttons_, I'd freakin' have a Masters.

Unclenching his jaw, Niko said, "You are not going if you're sick."

"I'm not sick."

"You just said you might be coming down with something."

Damn. That's the problem with diversionary tactics—like lies, they sometimes came around to bite you on the ass.

"Cyrano, I'm fine." To prove it, I stood, locking my knees to disguise just how unsteady my legs were. Throwing my arms wide, I said, "See! Just fine."

My change of heart about going to this business meeting puzzled me just as much as it did my brother. Yesterday when Nik had told me he wanted me to attend this meeting with a potential client, I'd tried just about everything to wheedle my way out of it. Now I was equally determined to actually go—almost desperately so. Maybe it was simply because I had no desire to stay in the apartment alone.

Before my brother could say another word, I hurried to my bedroom to change my clothes. I was perfectly happy in my washed out navy sweatpants and wrinkled gray t-shirt, but I doubt Niko would consider it appropriate attire for a business meeting.

It didn't take long for me to change. I didn't own all that many clothes so finding something to throw on was easy. I settled for a pair of fairly clean jeans and a black t-shirt that, while somewhat faded, was relatively free of wrinkles. By the time I slipped on my black leather jacket and black boots, I thought I looked pretty decent. The only thing I couldn't help was the fact that all the black highlighted that I was even more pale than normal and emphasized the purplish half moons under my eyes. I shrugged. _Oh, well. As long as the client isn't a six-year-old who might mistake me for the boogeyman, we should be okay._

I walked to the kitchen and joined Niko, who had finished getting ready while I was changing. He had on his long black coat and had pulled his shoulder-length blond hair into a small queue at the back of his neck, securing it with a small band of black leather. I wondered, not for the first or the hundredth time, if he missed the long braid he used to have. The one he'd sacrificed in the name of grief when I'd died.

I noticed a couple more things simultaneously. Two familiar small brown pills—ibuprofen—were waiting for me on the table, and Nik was just drying the glass that had contained the unidentifiable green stuff he'd foisted off on me earlier, having obviously dumped it down the drain. The second I stepped into the kitchen, he turned to look at me—a calculating look in his eye.

"Do I pass inspection, General Leandros?" I all but did a ballerina twirl where I stood. I was referring to my choice of attire more so than my current physical condition. I knew, however, that my brother was contemplating just the opposite. While my older brother scrutinized me, I dry-swallowed the painkillers.

After a few seconds, Niko gave a curt nod and said, "Let's go."

Even though I was physically closer to the door, Niko still managed to beat me out of the apartment. I always marveled at how fast he could move. We were halfway down the first flight of stairs when he spoke again.

"Cal?"

"Yeah?"

"I want to know if something happens while we're out. You feel sick or whatever, I want to know. You hear me?"

"Yeah, Cyrano, I hear you. You'll be the first to know after me." I wasn't being entirely truthful. I hated adding anything to Niko's burden of worry. It already weighed too heavily on his shoulders. It was the very reason I hadn't told him about the nightmares when they started. That and I figured that no one really wants to hear that their own brother—especially one who's half monster—is dreaming of them dying.

We reached the street a few minutes later. I winced when I stepped into the early morning sunshine just behind Niko. It might be sunny, but it was cold. Cold enough to see our breath when we exhaled. I couldn't stop the hard shiver that raced its way up and down my spine. My still-present headache spiked at the involuntary shudder. I was glad Niko was walking ahead of me.

"So we walking to this meeting or taking the subway?"

"Too far to walk. His office is up on 12th Avenue."

I bit back a groan. I hated the subway, but we currently didn't have a car. "Man, where's Robin when you want him?" Since we'd met him, the puck had come through with a vehicle a time or two when we were in need.

"I didn't ask him for one. It's a short subway ride."

I grumbled under my breath, nearly running into Nik's back when he stopped at an intersection. Ten minutes later we were in the station and pressing our way forward in the crowd to board the train. By the time we entered the car, it was standing room only. Niko and I ended up standing side-by-side, hands gripping the bar above our heads.

This is why I hate the subway—the crowd. Usually any time I'm forced to take the subway, I'm able to block out the miasma of scents offered up by a crowd of people pressed so closely together. Today though my defenses weren't up to par and they closed in on me like a poisonous cloud. I felt my stomach do a slow roll but I swallowed down the nausea. I was grateful when the train started forward with a lurch. Lack of sleep had taken its toll, and after a couple of minutes the sway of the subway train car lulled me into a daze and my eyes drifted closed.

_I felt the weight of the perfectly balanced knife in my hand. The blade glimmered and winked as I swiveled it back and forth, studying each side in appreciation. Running my thumb along the edge, I left a thin line of scarlet in its wake. A wide grin of satisfaction decorated my face. Turning, I gaze, emotionlessly, at the blond man stretched out against the wall before me, four-point restraints holding him tight. Without a moment's hesitation, I thrust the knife forward again and again, relishing the useless resistance as it penetrates through skin and muscle and bone. I savor the feel of the hot, thick, viscous blood as it gushes and covers my hand with its scarlet heat . . ._


	3. Beware the Job Interview

_From out of nowhere an iron manacle closed around my wrist. I gazed at it, puzzled. Gushing hot blood coated the metal immediately. The warmth crept under the binding, growing hotter and hotter as the manacle tightened unbearably. I attempted to pull my arm out of the restraint and failed._

"_Cal?"_

"Cal!"

My gray eyes flew open and I gasped. Awareness rolled over me in a foamy white-capped wave. It only took a second for me to realize that it was Niko's warm fingers wrapped tightly around my wrist. My own were caressing the handle of my knife stashed inside my coat.

Niko leaned in close, his face impassive. "Cal, you with me?"

He slowly let go of my wrist, and I pulled my hand out of my jacket, away from the knife. I blinked a few times to bring my brother fully into focus.

"Yeah—yeah, I'm good." I wiped my hand repeatedly on the leg of my jeans but could still feel the way the viscous ruby fluid had silkily coated my skin. Despite the fact that Nik stood before me perfectly healthy and whole, I was afraid that if I looked hard enough, I'd still see the gory remnants caked beneath my nails and embedded in the cracks of my knuckles. I couldn't stop the shudder that snaked up my spine.

Niko's hand fell on my shoulder—a silent show of support. "We've got another 10 minutes to go yet before our stop. Do we need to get off early?"

Taking a deep breath, I looked at my brother and raised an eyebrow. "What—and walk the rest of the way? You know me better than that, Cyrano. If a subway train could deliver me directly to the door, I'd be all for it."

His fingers tightened for a moment before slipping off my shoulder. "Oh, that's right, I forgotten that 'lazy' is your middle name," dry amusement was evident in Niko's tone, "If I offered to transport you by piggyback rides everywhere, you'd probably take me up on it."

The very image coaxed a small laugh out of me, and I shoved an elbow into his side, unsurprised when he failed to even flinch.

"Hey, maybe I should have business cards made up that read 'C. Lazy Leandros'. Has a nice ring to it, huh?" _That_ coaxed a rare smile out of my big brother, and I relaxed every so slightly, momentarily pushing the nightmares out of my head.

The rest of the subway ride passed without incident, though I was extremely glad to get off the train and away from the press of bodies.

Topside, in the urban jungle called New York City, I followed Nik toward our destination a block away. We paused for a moment outside the elegant highrise.

My gaze scaled the glittery shimmering façade of the building. "Nice digs. Who is this potential client anyways?"

"Thwaite Tally-Whalker."

"Thwaite Tally-Whalker? What the hell kinda name is that?" I groused. "Tally-Whalker? Sounds too much like tallywacker to me. Bet that fits better too." This bit of snark earned me a smack to the back of my head.

"Cal, behave."

I rubbed the back of my head and resisted the urge to stick my tongue out at Nik. He never could take a joke. Of course, that's exactly what makes me do it all the more. Hey, every saint has to have their sinner, right?

Niko gave the stern-looking security guard at the small desk in the lobby his name and the man waved us on to the elevators, assuring us with a tight-lipped smile that Mr. Tally-Whalker was awaiting us in his suite on the 65th floor. I silently groaned as we approached the gilded bank of elevators. They were worse than subway trains, and no matter how elegantly appointed and decorated, they were still little death boxes on strings.

The alternative, of course, was me hauling my ass up 65 flights of stairs which was never gonna happen. Seriously, after twenty flights—ha! Who _am_ I kidding—after ten Niko would probably end up having to carry me. No—scratch that—he'd just latch on to my wrist, or maybe even my ankle, and drag me behind him—thump, thump, thumping the rest of the way. Probably lecturing me all the while on how this was good training.

Nope, in this instance it was time to suck it up. When the elevator doors swept open, I hopped on first. And curled my hands into white-knuckled fists.

The elevator ascended with incredible speed, leaving my stomach somewhere around the fifth floor. Niko, as usual, seemed completely unaffected by the swift ride. Before I knew it we were disembarking on the 65th floor. The double doors to the suite lay directly across the broad expanse of plush burgundy carpet. Our feet sank into its padded softness as we walked.

Niko's knock was answered swiftly by a diminutive woman in gray whose hair and eyes matched her outfit. She led us without delay to another set of polished wood doors, opening them and motioning us through before quickly disappearing—all without ever looking directly at us or muttering one word. The doors made a soft snicking sound as they latched closed and for a moment I thought maybe they'd been locked.

I'd smelled it the moment we stepped across the threshold. A mixture of mud, mold, and slime. Of an odd lust and decay and . . . death. I bit my bottom lip and tried to ignore the stench that apparently only I could smell.

A squat, wide man rose from behind his gigantic desk and extended a hand. His pale skin sported a light sheen of sweat.

"Niko Leandros, I presume," his voice had a strange sibilant lisping lilt to it, "I am Thwaite Tally-Whalker. And this is?" He pointed a long, skinny finger at me. His piercing gaze was partially hidden behind eyeglasses with blue-tinted lenses.

"My business partner. Cal." Niko offered no other information.

As Niko began to talk business, I drifted away to look around the room. The squat man was making me nervous and jumpy. Before I had a much time to contemplate why, a door in the corner of the room opened and a tall, coolly-elegant young woman entered.

"Ahhh, this is my daughter, Shasa."

"Hello, Daddy dear. We have . . . guests?"

"Yes, darling. Say hello to the gentlemen. Niko and Cal."

Offering a small smile, Shasa Tally-Whalker studied Niko for a moment and then trained her eyes on me.

Shasa sidled effortlessly in my direction, her shimmery waist-length pin straight blonde hair, rippling enticingly as she walked. I noticed other parts of her swaying gently too and felt my cheeks heat. She stopped directly in front of me and leaned forward, licking her plump lips before pulling in a deep breath.

"Mmm, nice," she whispered. "So . . . sweet. I think I like you." Her red lips stretched into a smile.

I noticed it immediately on her exhalation. Her breath was foul. Not normal halitosis foul. No, this was the scent I'd noticed immediately upon entering the suite. Her breath stank of death and decay. With an infusion of sour lust underneath. I automatically recoiled, though I had little room to move as I was trapped between the wall and a heavy piece of furniture. There was no way she was human, at least not completely.

She stepped closer, eliminating all space between us. You couldn't have slipped a piece of paper between our bodies. Canting her head to the right, she leaned in and pressed her slick lips against my neck. I jumped when I felt the frigid slither of her tongue slide repeatedly over my skin. It was when she pulled back that I saw her cold reptilian eyes. For a split second as I peered at them, I saw green scaly skin and a plentitude of needle sharp teeth under the mask, but I blinked and the glimpse was gone.

She smacked her lips and said on a whispery breath, "Daddy, I think I like this one. Can I have him, Daddy?" Her tongue protruded once more and I was thinking she might taste my neck again, but she merely settled for licking her lips.

I glanced at Thwaite and briefly saw his human mask waver as well. Worse, he was licking his lips hungrily as well.

_Oh, shit._

"Now, Shasa, you can't just demand . . ."

In a blink, Shasa grabbed my shoulders, her long, sharp, and decidedly non-human, nails—all ten of them—piercing through my coat and t-shirt and sinking deep into skin and muscle. I yelped in pain at the same time she wailed, "I want him!" The scent of decay and rot, of black lust and rancid blood, suddenly became overwhelming, and I gagged. My stomach flipped and I began to dry heave. Had she not had me in such a tight and pain-filled grip, I would have sunk to my knees.

A well-honed blade appeared beneath her chin.

"Let him go."

Shasa stared defiantly at him and failed to follow the order. The tip of Niko's blade nicked soft skin—a drop of deep crimson blood beading from the tiny wound.

"Let him GO."

She did—but only with great reluctance. I staggered and wavered when she let me go.

"Cal? Can you walk?"

"I-I'm okay," I gasped. "Let's just . . . go."

Niko's free hand closed around the back of my neck and he guided me toward the door. His katana remained at the ready in case Thwaite or Shasa attempted another attack.

Once we made it outside the office door, we both hurried to exit the suite. The lady in gray was nowhere in sight. As the suite door closed behind us, we heard first a high-pitched whining scream-snarl from within the office confines, followed by a much deeper grunt and growl.

For once in my life, I was damn happy to see the inside of an elevator.

TBC . . .


	4. All Snarls and Sharp Elbows

Yay! Can you believe it? I finally managed to get a new chapter written for this story. I'm so sorry for the long delay. When my muse goes on vacation, he sometimes never wants to come back no matter how much I beg.

I hope you all enjoy, and I promise to try and have the next chapter up a lot sooner.

V

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The trip home from Thwaite Tally-Whalker's office seemed a lot longer than the trip there. Maybe that was because I was dead-ass tired from so little actual sleep recently. Or, what the hell, maybe it was because I'd just happened to be pricked and pierced, not to mention almost devoured, by some weird reptilian chick who reeked of sex on a stick. Either way, both reasons put me in a really foul mood, which was bad news for the commuters on the overstuffed subway. I staked out my little body-width patch of personal space and defended it with enthusiasm—all snarls and sharp elbows—until, that is, Niko dropped a hand on my shoulder and made good use of a certain—painful—pressure point. A startled yelp flew past my lips.

"Cal, enough! Behave yourself!" Niko's snarl was by far more feral and intimidating than mine.

Having made his point, my brother's hand dropped away from my shoulder. Chastened like a disobedient five-year-old, I contented myself with settling into a broody snit despite knowing it was totally unfair to my older sibling.

By the time we reached our stop, I was feeling guilty and was a little worried that Niko would exact some form of workout torture to make me pay for my less than stellar behavior. At the rate I was going today, wracking up black marks, my brother would have me training for hours on end. Or—knowing Niko—maybe he'd just shove me in a time out chair in the corner, keeping me there with the finely-honed point of his katana if necessary. He gets a little testy when I act like an ass.

The train squealed to a stop, and I squeezed through the door, stepping on the platform just ahead of Nik. I waited for the river of people around us to dissipate somewhat before I muttered, "I'm sorry." As apologies go, it was sincere enough, but Niko's continued silence suggested he wasn't buying it. So I tried again when we reached street level. Humble pie might taste like crap but it worked wonders when consumed by pain-in-the-ass little brothers.

"Seriously, Cyrano, I'm sorry. I've been acting like an ass all morning and—"

"Yes, you have."

I rolled my eyes at his too quick agreement. "—and I think it's just because I'm tired, ya know?"

"I know. Which is why we're going to discuss this and get to the bottom of it."

Discussing it was the last thing I wanted to do, right down there on the "DO NOT DISCUSS" list with my Auphe father, Tumulus, and the awful things I did while possessed by the darkling. I knew by the tone of my brother's voice though that we would discuss my nightmares eventually.

My hope was to delay that conversation as long as possible. Therefore, a bit of deflection was in order once again.

"Don't you have a class to teach at the dojo this afternoon?"

"Don't I always on Thursdays? Besides it's not until 4 o'clock. We've got time."

Heh. Okay, not much in the way of successful diversion there. So I tried again.

"Didn't you promise Promise you'd come over and check her out," I paused long enough to snicker, "I mean, check out her new contract?" My question earned me a quick slap to the back of the head. Niko never appreciates my refined sense of humor.

"Promise's paperwork will still be there tomorrow, Cal. She'll understand."

I didn't quite give in to the inevitable, but I was suddenly disinclined to continue tossing out distractions—at least for now.

We made the rest of the walk in silence, arriving at our apartment building several minutes later. I let Nik take the lead, traipsing up the stairs. Well, he glided, I traipsed. Okay, more like trudged.

We were inside the apartment no more than 30 seconds, long enough for Niko to strip off his long duster coat and the various weaponry it contained in its depths, when he commanded, "Take off your shirt."

Slow on the uptake, I came back with the ever intelligent, "Huh?"

My brother sighed. "Cal, she got you with her nails, didn't she? I need to clean those wounds."

"Oh. Right." I hadn't told Niko about the wounds. How the hell did he know? Then I vaguely remembered yelping out loud when Shasa's preternaturally sharp nail tips had pierced my skin. Yeah, he would know.

I waited until he retrieved our extensive-out-of-necessity first aid kit from the bathroom before yanking my faded but serviceable t-shirt over my head. I stared mournfully at the ten holes in the material, wondering if it was a complete write off then balled it in my fist and tossed it onto the nearby armchair.

"Sit."

I sat. Niko could probably _hear_ my eyes roll, but I sat. Like a good little half-monster—I mean little brother. Cyrano hated when I put myself down like that. Even if I was only stating the truth. Hey, I learned from the best—my mother.

"These don't look too bad. Most of them are shallow. Won't even need bandages."

"Oh, goody."

I grunted when he poured the hydrogen peroxide over the bloody slightly-curved grooves. It didn't hurt, just tingled a little and the fizzy bubbling felt weird, but the liquid itself was cold. I watched Nik wipe away the excess with gauze and then cover two of the wounds with butterfly bandages.

After he was done, the fingers on his left hand rested for a millisecond on the back of my neck before dropping away.

"Why don't you stow the kit and put on a clean shirt? I'll start some lunch."

My stomach growled. "What're we having?"

"Whole wheat spaghetti."

"With meatballs?" My voice was hopeful.

"Soy crumbles."

"Ugh."

My nose instantly wrinkled, and I breathed a huge sigh of disappointment. There was just no separating my brother from his health food. Still, the soy crumbles tasted almost like meat. It was worse when he snuck vegetables—like zucchini or eggplant—into the sauce. _Ick._ At least we had a nice big round plastic container of "fake" parmesan cheese in the fridge. A mountain of that on the spaghetti would hide the taste.

"You'll survive. Get the laundry together too while you're at it so I can do a couple of loads. We need some clean clothes around here."

It was my turn to do that particular chore, but I wisely chose to remain silent and close up the first aid kit before heading to the bathroom to stash it in the cupboard under the sink.

My brother's words from a minute ago proved quite prophetic when I entered my bedroom and started searching for a clean t-shirt to throw on. There wasn't one. We really DID need some clean clothes around here. I settled for pulling a t-shirt off the top of the pile in the corner. It was wrinkled and had a hole in it, but it didn't smell so I figured it was relatively safe.

After shrugging into the t-shirt, I gathered up my dirty pile and went to Niko's room, grabbed the stuff out of his hamper. Yes, my brother uses a hamper for his clothes—me, I use a corner. Same principle, just different styles.

I dumped the stuff on the couch and was about to head to the kitchen, from where surprisingly good smells were emanating, when a knock sounded at the door. I opened it to find Robin Goodfellow on the other side, lounging against the door jamb. He was resplendent in purple silk. I covered my eyes.

"Ah, great, a visit from Willie Loman. Just what I needed today."

"Good afternoon to you too, Caliban. Are you going to let me in or continue to stand there and block the doorway?"

I flipped him the bird and stepped to the side. After he crossed the threshold, I shut the door with a resounding thud. "Nik's in the kitchen."

"Excellent. I thought I smelled something good."

I wasn't sure if the puck was referring to the food my brother was cooking or whether he was referring to Niko himself so I kept my mouth shut and stomped to the kitchen.

"Our very own playboy puck is here," I muttered and plopped down into a chair at the table.

Niko glanced over his shoulder. "Robin. Glad you're here. Join us for lunch?"

"I would love to. Had I known we'd be dining on pasta this afternoon, I would have brought a little _vino rosso_ with me."

I rolled my eyes. "Just sit down, Loman."

"Cal, set the table."

I grumbled but stood and did as Niko ordered, gathering three mismatched plates, forks, glasses, and paper napkins. I briefly considered just dumping it all in the middle of the table but remembered the black marks already on my record for today and proceeded to set the table properly. From the refrigerator, I grabbed the parmesan cheese and three cokes, setting them down just as Niko brought over the big bowl of spaghetti. It actually smelled good, and I found myself looking forward to eating something—a rare occurrence that last few days.

I was just reaching for my coke when my brother pulled it out of my hand. He gathered up the other two cans and put all three back into the fridge. Nik then pulled a pitcher of ice water from its depths and poured some in each of our glasses before setting the pitcher in the center of the table. He ignored my glare every step of the way.

Tuning out the chitchat between Niko and Robin, I piled some spaghetti on my plate then waited impatiently for Goodfellow to finish with the parmesan cheese. When he was finally done with it, I eagerly snatched it from his hands and started to shake the ultra fine crumbles of cheese on top of my food. I barely got a dusting of white when the plastic container was unceremoniously yanked from my grasp.

"Hey!"

Niko didn't respond to my outrage. He just put the cheese back into the refrigerator, never breaking his conversation with Robin.

I picked up my fork and sullenly shoved spaghetti into my mouth. The food wasn't half bad, and I downed several forkfuls in quick succession. Without warning, between one blink and the next, the red on my plate took on the deep hue of blood. The blood from my dreams. I dropped my fork and pushed away from the table.

"Cal?" Niko's voice was full of concern.

I flicked my eyes to him and then back to my plate. "I-I'm fine. Just full already." I drained my glass of water before picking up my plate and dumping the rest of my dinner in the garbage can. Tossing the dirty dishes into the sink, I hurried from the room, refusing to give in to the urge to run to the bathroom to puke up what I'd just eaten. Instead I threw myself down on the couch, my feet on top of the pile of dirty clothes, and closed my eyes. I don't really remember, but I must have instantly fallen asleep.

It was only fifteen or so minutes later—as I subsequently learned from Niko—that the terrified screaming started.

TBC…


	5. Murder and Suicide

_Stygian darkness surrounded me. It felt cavernous, infinite but yet clingy and terribly familiar. I was sure if I stretched my arms wide, I'd feel the rough walls of one of the old closets in one of the old trailers in which we'd lived. Even the musty, moldy scent burned my nostrils and stoked long ago memories. I felt all of five-years-old again._

"_You! You're a monster!"_

_I froze. I knew that voice well. Too well. SOPHIA. My mother. My muscles quivered._

"_You're a monster, Caliban. Half human, half beast," she hissed, "All beast to me." Sophia flickered into existence right in front of my eyes, and I flinched away, automatically expecting a blow—a response physically ingrained throughout childhood. I wasn't disappointed as a backhanded slap impacted with my mouth, splitting my lower lip. Hot blood from the cut trickled down my chin._

"_Look at the tainted blood flow. Tainted from the moment you were conceived. You poison everything you touch. Look at me. Look at what birthing a monster did to me." Her face rippled, melted, dripped away, re-formed. The scent of rot wafted across my nose, and I bit back a gag._

_I wanted to cover my ears. Wanted to cower in the corner of this dark closet. But I couldn't move. Could barely breathe._

"_I should have wrung your scrawny neck the second you clawed your way from my womb." Her features again twisted, hatred glowing red in her eyes. "Stopped you from killing him."_

"_Killing who?" I forced the words between numb lips._

"_HIM! The one decent thing you had in this world—your brother. The one and only person who loved you."_

"_No! I didn't…haven't…killed…"_

"_Oh, no? Look at your hands! LOOK! Why—why are they covered in his blood? You stink of it!"_

_Before I could move, Sophia hands, fingers curled into gnarled claws, reached for me. Manacled my wrists and jerked them upwards. I cried out as her iron grip ground bone against bone._

"_LOOK!"_

_My gaze locked on my hands, and to my horror they were crimson stained. The syrupy fluid so plentiful it dripped steadily from each of my fingers. Its heat burned like acid against my skin._

"_No!"_

"_YES! You killed Niko. Your own brother. And I know why," she spit, "Jealousy. Loathing. Acting just as a monster would."_

_Her maniacal gaze pierced me like a thousand knives as I struggled to proclaim denial. "I—I—no—I didn't…couldn't…"_

"_But you did. You're an evil stain on this world. You should die, Caliban. You should die."_

_Her hands closed around my throat. I sucked in a breath of air before her fingers clamped down in a vice-like grip. I screamed as her ragged nails drilled into my skin…_

"Cal, wake up! Wake up, damn it!" The words wormed their way through the black fog; the last two a testimony to Niko's level of worry as he almost never swore. My eyelids fluttered at his command and opened. I blearily focused on my brother who was mere inches away, hands solidly gripping my shoulders.

"Nik, what the hell?" My voice was a raspy croak.

Niko let go of me and scrubbed a hand down his face. "That's what I'd like to know. Cal, what the hell is going on? Why were you screaming? Why do you have a fat lip and bruises on your neck and wrists? They weren't there when we were in the kitchen."

I sat up and willed away the rush of dizziness the movement caused. "Whoa. One question at a time, Cyrano." I glanced at my wrists as I spoke and saw the deep purple bruises handcuffing them. I could only assume there were similar marks on my neck. Amazingly, as I watched the bruises began to fade. There remained a deeper ache though from where my mother's preternaturally powerful grip had ground bone against bone. I looked up at Niko, let my gaze slide over to Goodfellow, and grunted, "Now that's some freaky shit."

"Cal…" Niko's voice was gravelly with warning.

My brother never did appreciate my unique sense of humor such that it was.

"What's going on with you?"

I sighed and rubbed my hands over my face. It was time to come clean. I was too damn tired—and yes, too freaked out—to care anymore. "I've…I've been having these nigh—"

_DO NOT SPEAK OF THEM! _The insidious voice echoed inside my skull and pain roared through my head like a freight train. I gasped and pushed my palms against my forehead.

"N-N-Nightma—" The room weaved and bobbed sickeningly around me as I tried to push the word past my lips.

A hand landed on my shoulder. "Cal, stop." It was Goodfellow who spoke, and I uncharacteristically listened, gratefully snapping my mouth closed.

I watched as the puck pulled my brother aside and listened halfheartedly to their conversation.

"Niko, I think I know what's wrong with him."

"How? How could you possibly know what's going on? Especially when I don't."

Nik's voice was icy. So icy in fact that I almost expected him to produce his katana and bury the tip in the puck's neck. Did I mention he can be a little…protective of me?

"I think he's been targeted by a dream weaver."

"A dream weaver. What is that?"

Goodfellow ran a hand through his luxurious curls. I squinted at him and thought for a second he was going to strike some ridiculous pose. He didn't. Instead Robin dropped his chin to his chest.

"I guess you could say a dream weaver is like…is like…a…a psychic assassin."

"What?" My incredulous voice blended perfectly with my brother's.

"It comes to you when you sleep—induces these horrific nightmares," he raised his eyebrows in my direction and I managed to nod. "Nightmares full of murder and mayhem. Typically directed at a loved one. It wears the person down—erodes their sanity—and in the end, well, in the end, the affected person acts out the murder. Or commits suicide." Goodfellow swung his gaze between the brothers. "Most often both."

I gulped and trembled as images from my recent nightmares flashed through my mind.

"Why in the world would one of these things target Cal?" muttered Niko.

"It didn't."

Niko narrowed his eyes, offering up a smokin' glare at Robin and I almost felt sorry for the puck. "You just said…"

Goodfellow held up a placating hand. "Dream weavers hardly ever act of their own volition. _Someone_ targeted Cal—literally sent the dream weaver after him—but only to get to you."

"I do not understand."

Neither did I, but I definitely didn't like what I was hearing.

"That's why I said dream weavers are assassins. Someone out there is after YOU—Niko Leandros—and they're using Caliban to do their dirty work. The dream weaver drives him over the edge, he kills you, kills himself. Relatively quick and simple when all is said and done.

I was appalled at Robin's revelations. "Why the hell would someone be after Nik?"

The puck shrugged one shoulder. "Revenge."

Niko tugged at his short blond queue at the back of his neck. "Could be any number of people—or creatures for that matter given our line of…work."

"How long have you been having the nightmares, Cal?" Robin asked with a surprisingly grim face.

I silently counted then muttered "F-F-Five days—err—nights." A sharp spike of pain arched over my right eye. I bit my bottom lip to keep from groaning.

"My guess is it would be someone—or some_thing_—you dealt with in the weeks just before the nightmares started."

Niko's expression hardened as he mentally prepared to do battle. "How do we stop it—the dream weaver?"

"Cal's lasted longer than most to be honest. We're gonna need to hurry before the dream weaver accomplishes its goal. I think I know how to neutralize it but—" Goodfellow hesitated.

Niko shifted his gaze from me to Robin. "But?"

"The first part of it won't be easy."

I looked at Nik and edged forward, my aching wrists throbbing, till I was sitting on the edge of the couch.

"We have to keep Cal awake—completely awake—for the next 72 hours."

TBC…


	6. Dark Haired Waifs and Black Eyes

Well, I thought this was going to be the last chapter, but it didn't end up that way as this one just took on a life of its own. Hopefully, it's not too boring.

* * *

The puck was right. I didn't like this very much at all. Minutes after he'd made the pronouncement that I needed to be kept awake for the next three days, exhaustion had set in—at least in my head—and all I wanted to do was lay down and go to sleep. Of course, thoughts of my recent forays into sleep resulting in Technicolor horrorfests were a good dose of _No-Doze_ at least for a little while.

After deciding to devise shift work so they could—much to by disgust—_baby-sit_ me, Robin had left. That was four hours ago. In that time, Niko had assigned me a number of light chores—mostly just to keep mind and body occupied I guess. But I was bored. B-O-R-E-D. Tired. Grouchy. Bet on any one and you'd hit pay dirt. And I know it was only going to get worse.

Cleaning the bathroom floor was not my idea of fun at the best of times and now was no exception. I paused mid-stroke, rested my fist on the rounded knob and dropped my chin on top with a sigh as my eyes drifted closed.

"Cal."

I startled and straightened with a curse. "I wasn't sleeping!" The words came out more sharply than I intended, and I felt bad for snapping, especially when Nik just looked at me with that ever-so-patient big brother expression. I pressed my fingers to my eyes. "Sorry."

"I came to tell you it's almost time to go."

"Go?"

"You're coming with me to the dojo while I teach my class."

"What? Noooooo." Yeah, I can whine with the best of 'em. Hell, I wanted to stomp my feet too like I did when I was five, but I managed to restrain myself—barely.

"You have to, Cal. I can't leave you here alone."

I opened my mouth to argue but there were no words there to deny the truth. "Fine," I muttered instead packing all the disdain I could muster behind the word. I made a final few swipes at the floor with the mop, dumped the water, and stowed the bucket and mop in the cluttered utility closet off the kitchen. I was slouched by the door waiting when Niko walked out of his bedroom.

I shivered as we pushed our way out of the apartment building as a blast of cold wind found its way down the neck of my leather jacket. The dojo wasn't far from our apartment but the three and a half blocks seemed like ten miles at the moment. I reluctantly trudged next to my brother. "So what class is it today again?"

"Aikijutsu."

"Oh God," I muttered, "You're not gonna use me as your training dummy again, are you?"

Nik snorted. "No, you're safe. For today anyway. Besides the point is to teach them how to do the moves correctly, not flail around like there's a bee flying around them."

Grouchy or not, I laughed at Nik's teasing dig and elbowed in the ribs at his teasing dig. "I do not flail. I'm as coordinated as you are."

"Uh huh."

"Okay—almost as coordinated."

"Keep telling yourself that."

The banter between us felt good. "And you know I hate bees." It was an irrational fear as Niko had tried to explain to me many, many times but—what the hell—a guy had to have some weird quirks, right? Half-monster that I was, I had a laundry list.

We arrived at the dojo five minutes before Nik's class was due to start.

"There's a chair over there in the corner you can use."

I glanced at the uncomfortable-looking chair in question and grimaced with distaste.

"It's only for an hour and a half, Cal."

"I think I'll wander around instead." The dojo wasn't big—three rooms and a tiny office so there wouldn't be much to the wandering but it beat sitting in the corner in the time out chair.

Cyrano was nodding at his students as they began to file onto the floor and take their places. "All right. Just remember—"

"I know, I know—no sleeping. I swear—I'll hardly even blink."

I wandered through the empty classroom next to the one Niko was using, pausing to poke through some of the equipment lined up against one wall. I studiously avoided looking in the mirrored front wall not wanting to see my own haunted reflection staring back at me.

Leaving the empty room, I slipped into the last room at the back of the building. This one was occupied with another class—beginner's karate. All the students were kids around the ages of five or six. Rugrats. I was about to slip quietly back out the door when the instructor, a rough-looking man in his early 40s who went by the name Jersey, spied me.

"Hey, if it isn't Cal as I live and breathe! Goodta see ya agin. Was just tellin' that brother of yours that he should bring ya by one-a these days."

"Hey, Jersey."

"Since yer here—wanna help me with these young'uns?"

"Wha? No! I mean…I…I…"

"Ah, c'mon, kid. Just wander around and keep an eye on their form—help any-a the little ones who need it." Jersey paused for a moment and then sweetened the pot. "Listen, I'll even get the missus to make a batch of her famous double chocolate cupcakes jus' for ya."

I opened my mouth to point out super health-conscious Niko'd never let me eat them.

Jersey predicted my objection before I could spit it out and countered, "AND I get Niko to let you eat them, I promise. I swear, they're so good, yer brother himself might not be able to resist havin' one."

I seriously doubted that but I relented and agreed. After all, I had an hour and a half to kill.

I did as Jersey requested, weaved through the assembled group of kids and adjusted an arm here, a leg or foot there. I spied a kid over in the corner who seemed to be having a little more trouble than most with executing the moves. Hesitant and unsure, scrawny with dark fly-away hair, he reminded me of—well—me when I was his age. I approached and kneeled next to him.

"Hey, need some help?"

He turned wide gray eyes to me and nodded solemnly.

"I'm Cal. What's your name?"

"Scottie."

"Okay, Scottie. Lemme show you. See—pull your arm back like this. And then snap it forward with your palm open."

I helped the little boy perform the maneuver a couple of times. "There—you got it. Now try on your own."

I didn't see it coming, didn't see Scottie turn excitedly in my direction, and my reflexes were slowed by my growing exhaustion. Suddenly, his hand impacted with my eye. I cried out, stumbled backward, and landed on my ass on the mat. My hand flew up to my throbbing eye socket.

"I'm sorry, mister. I didn't mean it."

I glanced up to see Scottie standing, trembling before me. Jersey stepped up behind him.

"It's okay, kid. I know you didn't do it on purpose." I ruffled his hair.

Jersey helped me to my feet. "You okay, Cal?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." I shrugged. "What's a little black eye…"

"Hang on, kiddies." The older man moved to the front of the room where his coat hung on a hook. He pulled a buck out of the pocket and handed it to me. "Go have a soda on me. And I'll make sure you get those cupcakes soon." Jersey patted my shoulder and returned to teaching his class.

I started to say something but was caught up in a yawn instead. I headed out of the room. Honestly, something cold, loaded with caffeine and sugar sounded just about perfect right now.

Niko found me doodling on a blank piece of paper in the office an hour later, the cool—though long-empty—can pressed against my eye. I put both the can and the pen down on the desk and stood.

My brother raised an eyebrow. "What happened to you?"

"I found out karate and sleep deprivation don't mix."

TBC…


	7. Poker or Poke Her?

It was midnight or thereabout. I'd stopped constantly looking at the clock some time ago. I was sitting at the kitchen table alternately blinking blearily at the cards in my hand and at Goodfellow who was sitting across from me. We were playing poker. Well, as well as we could _play_ poker with two people, one of whom was dead on his feet. That, of course, explained the impressive pile of easily-won chips sitting in front of the ridiculously handsome puck. Most of them were red, but I couldn't remember what the wager denomination Robin had assigned to them (since we weren't actually playing for money). I just knew they had something to do with Niko—oh wait—a kiss from Nik! That's right. The stakes, as assigned by Robin Goodfellow, for each red chip was a kiss from Niko. Crap—I was in serious trouble if Robin tried to collect. I threw my cards down on the table. "I'm done."

"Ah, c'mon, Caliban. I haven't won all the red chips yet." Goodfellow pursed his lips in a full on pout and gestured to the small—very small—pile that remained in front of me. All of which were totally destined to remain unredeemed by me—at least at their current worth.

"Yeah, like you're gonna dare redeem the ones you've got."

The puck offered up a lascivious grin. "I might."

I couldn't suppress a snort. "Well, if you do, I hope you're not too attached to those lips of yours. Or maybe even a much lower body part of yours. Nik's awfully good with that katana of his." I pushed away from the table and stood, swaying on my feet just a tad and thinking longingly of the couch in the living room. Robin followed suit with a rustle of purple silk and bobbing of dark curls.

He ran his hands down his front, smoothing away nonexistent wrinkles. "I have an idea. Let's go to Hellfire."

"Hellfire?"

"That new bar for those of the supernatural persuasion. It's not far from here."

"Nah, I think I'll pass."

"Bah. Come on. It could be quite interesting."

"I said no! God, don't you ever fucking listen!" My reaction was completely over the top, and I knew it. I ground my palms into my burning eyes. "Sorry…"

"Let's at least take a walk then. The cold air might do you some good."

"You do realize it's like going on 1:00 o'clock in the morning, right? And this is New York City…"

"We won't go far. We'll be fine."

"Whatever. Let's go." I grabbed my battered leather jacket off its hook, shrugged into it, and was half way down the stairs before Goodfellow caught up.

I pushed through the door without slowing down. It was cold. Damn cold. Bitter wind bit into my cheeks and nose, coaxed excess moisture to well in my eyes. Arctic white moonlight cast an alien shine on the landscape, creating a tangle of grotesque shadows and shapes across the streets and sidewalks.

We walked in silence. I was too damn tired to really be much of a conversationalist. I shivered as a brutal gust of wind volleyed around me, tossing strands of dark hair across my pale face.

A few blocks later, I was startled from my self-induced exile by a hand on my arm. I stumbled and looked up—straight into the startlingly pretty golden eyes of a woman—a prostitute judging by both her clothes and sly, predatory expression.

"Lookin' for a little fun, sexy boy?" She licked her wine-colored lips.

I stifled a groan. _What the hell? Am I suddenly reeking of some freaky weird pheromones or something?_

She leaned forward and tightened her fingers on my arm. Her hot, fetid breath tickled my nose, and I sucked in a breath at its sheer wrongness. A hazy fog began to infiltrate my mind. Beneath her very human façade, I saw a ripple of otherworldliness as her mask slipped just a bit. A Batibat? Holy shit! I shivered for a completely different reason than the cold weather.

"Uh…no thanks."

"Whatsa matter, sweet lover boy? 'Fraid I'm too much for ya?" She waggled her eyebrows at her own double entendre. Her hand tightened, this time painfully, on my arm as I tried to pull away. "I just might surprise ya."

_Yeah, that's what I'm afraid of. _I yanked my rapidly numbing arm from her grasp. "Seriously, I highly doubt it." I spun on my heel and started back toward the apartment. "Robin, let's go!"

"Asshole!"

The hooker's venomous growl followed me into the night. I stumbled forward on shaky legs as quickly as I could, shaking my head to clear it.

"Dammit all, Cal, slow down already! What's your hurry?"

I paused long enough to glance over my shoulder. "You know what that was back there? A Batibat!"

"Yeah. So?"

"They're fuckin' deadly. Or can be. Having sex with one is like playing Russian Roulette." I rubbed feeling back into my arm. "Even not having sex with one might be deadly if they…you know…"

"And?"

I couldn't help but stop and stare for a second. "Oh, God—you mean—you've cavorted with one?"

"One or two over the centuries. It took some…finesse."

I held up a hand. "Nevermind. I don't wanna know."

I'd reached the apartment building and flung open the door with a little more force than necessary. The stairs were my Mt. Everest as I trudged endlessly upward, ignoring Goodfellow's salacious accounting of certain adventuresome, if not unsavory and somewhat nauseating, exploits.

To my surprise, Nik was awake when I entered the apartment, gadfly Robin at my heels.

"Where were you?"

My brother wasn't scowling but his expression was tight, uncompromising, but I could see the worry underneath.

I all but threw myself down on the couch, dropping my head into my hands. "Loman here decided a lovely romantic stroll was in order." Sarcasm laced each syllable as I slipped out of my jacket and tossed it over the arm of the couch.

"What happened?"

"Huh?" I squinted up at him. "Nothing happened."

"Cal, I can practically hear your heart racing from here."

I dismissed his statement with a casual wave of my hand. "It's the exhaustion."

"Cal."

This is why I never win an argument with my older brother. You see, he's got this certain tone. And if—okay, in all honesty, make that when—I hear that tone I suddenly feel shot full of truth serum. I call it his "truth or consequences" tone. I sighed.

"We ran into a Batibat. She…uh…she was a…a prostitute…and tried to pick me up."

"Damn. You didn't…I mean she didn't get to you, did she?"

Again I waved my hand. "No, I walked away. I'm fine."

"Okay. Good."

Grabbing the remote, I flicked on the television, hoping for some sort of distraction. I was rewarded with a repeat of the old show Dragnet. I jumped a minute or so later when a red Coca-Cola can suddenly appeared in my line of vision. An offering from Nik. "Thanks." I sipped it rather reluctantly. I loved the stuff—the first six cans had been manna from Heaven considering Niko rarely let me drink it (at least when he was around). But now…now it was just starting to taste like medicine. I drank it anyway. Otherwise Cyrano was sure to make some god-awful tasting tea and make me drink that.

The couch dipped when Nik sat down next to me, silent and troubled. The rest of the night passed in a blur. Neither of us fully acknowledging just how many times Nik had to prod me when my eyelids drifted shut.

TBC…


	8. Temper Tantrum

The morning brought snow. I found myself at the window watching the giant, lacy flakes float lazily downward, occasionally swirling in circles when caught in an errant gust of wind. I found it all oddly mesmerizing, and I suddenly felt as light as one of the intricate snowflakes. I touched the cold glass of the window and trembled, imagining myself flying through the air, landing, and melting away to nothing.

"Cal!" Niko's voice sounded behind me and I turned. Judging from the furrow of concern on his face, it wasn't the first time my brother had called my name.

"What?" I shoved a hand through my hair, which was still wet from the shower.

"You doing okay?"

"Just peachy keen, Daddy-o." The ridiculous response slipped out before I could stop it, and the look of concern on Nik's face deepened. I cleared my throat and muttered, "I'm fine."

He didn't believe me and who could blame him. Seeing as there were no mirrors anywhere in the apartment, I could only make an educated guess what my brother was seeing when he looked at me. Red-rimmed eyes with deep purple bags underneath. My normally pale skin now trending toward a sickly gray. Not to mention the fine tremors that wracked my body from head to toe. I was hardly the embodiment of 'fine'.

I followed Niko into the kitchen and slumped at the table while he began preparing his morning tea. I myself longed for a cup of coffee but knew it wasn't meant to be.

"So…" I fiddled with the spoon lying on the table, "who are you foisting me off on today?"

"No one. You're coming with me. We need to find out who's behind all this."

A mug of black tea appeared on the table in front of me, and I automatically turned up my nose.

"You'll like it; I used fully caffeinated."

I wrapped my fingers around the mug, relishing its heat as it seeped into my tingling fingers more so than the contents.

Sipping from his own mug, Nik opened the cupboard next to the sink. "What do you want for breakfast?"

I shook my head. "I don't want anything."

"Cal, you need to eat."

"I'm not hungry." Three words I never thought I'd say in a million years, but there you go.

"Eat anyway." Two words I never thought I'd hear Niko say in a million years.

In truth, with Coke now tasting like medicine, everything else seemed to taste like ash and blood and…rot. The few bites I'd tried since the spaghetti the day before had been nearly impossible to swallow. So I simply ignored my stomach's repeated growling pleas for food.

I was studying an interesting-looking scar in the Formica tabletop when a bowl of cereal and milk was placed in front of me. What happened next shocked me as much, if not more, than it shocked my older brother.

"GODDAMMIT, NIK, I SAID I DIDN'T WANT ANYTHING! WHY THE FUCK CAN'T YOU EVER LISTEN TO ME!" I furiously swept the bowl from the table with violent swing of my arm, watching as it crashed against the wall and dropped to the floor with a thud. Milk and cereal splattered every which way.

I froze. Inside, though, I was quaking, much like I'd done when I was five, waiting for the explosion. Waiting for the screeching and the powerful backhand to the mouth or worse. I could almost taste the blood from a split lip. I sucked in a breath; this was Nik, my brother, not Sophia. My mother had been gone a long time, and yet this response was apparently inherent.

"I-I'm sorry. I d-don't…I did-dn't…" The words were raspy, slurred around the edges, and coated with shame.

A warm hand landed on my shoulder and I flinched.

"Why don't you go put your shoes on and get ready to go while I'll clean it up."

"No, I-I'll do it."

"Go. It's okay, Cal."

I went.

* * *

Nik found me in the living some long minutes later sitting on the couch.

I glanced up at him through wispy strands of dark hair. "Was I supposed to be doing something?"

"Putting on your shoes."

"Oh." My gaze roamed around the room. "Where are they?"

"By the door where they always are?"

"Right." I stood slowly, steadying myself on the arm of the chair as the floor swayed under me. I retrieved my battered sneakers and stuffed my socked feet in each one respectively then struggled to tie the laces with clumsy fingers. Once I was no longer in danger of tripping over the frayed laces, I straightened and said, "I'm ready. Let's go."

"Forgetting something?"

"Oh, yeah!" I reached for my gun intending to tuck it away in the small of my back. My fingers barely brushed the handle when Niko snatched it away.

"Not that. I don't think it's a good idea for you to be armed right now."

"But…"

"No."

"Knife?"

"No."

"Melon baller?"

That actually got a laugh out of my brother, and I felt proud for half a second. Then I let out an aggrieved sigh, in no way happy with these arrangements. "I really, really don't like this."

"I know. But you'll be with me every second. You know I won't let anything happen to you."

To be honest, I knew, given my current condition, he was right. That still didn't make it any easier to accept. "So what was I forgetting then?"

"Your coat." Niko smiled a small smile and tapped the back of my head—much more gently than he would have on any other given day.

"So who's on the agenda?" I asked on our way down the stairs.

Nik handed me a list. "We're starting with them."

I squinted down at the piece of paper, the trembling of my hands making it harder to read.

_Dooba._

"Oh, God, not Dooba! Man, aren't I suffering enough already?" Dooba was Ogre. I'd only met him once but that was more than enough. He was nasty—at least to me—and he reeked. In fact, reek wasn't even a strong enough word to describe it. He was like all the malodors in the world rolled into one. And my super sensitive nose increased that stench a thousand fold. My stomach clenched just thinking about him.

"You'll live. We won't be there long."

I looked at the next name on the list. _Deedle._ "Okay, the Barbegazi's not so bad—as long as he doesn't kick me with those damned feet of his. He's not gonna, right?"

"That would depend on how badly you manage to piss him off, Cal."

"Hey, that last time wasn't my fault. How the heck would I know that that gooey lump with hair was his girlfriend?"

The third name on the list surprised me. _Merda Loc_.

"Isn't it kinda dangerous to have an Alp-luacha as an informant?"

Pragmatic as always, Nik serenely responded, "It can be…tricky. Thankfully I'm not often in need of her services." A hand on my shoulder guided me around the corner toward the subway.

I came to realize by the end of the day that it was a very good thing Niko disarmed me before we left the house or he'd have, at the very least, three less informants on his list. As it was, Merda Loc lost her head courtesy of Niko's well-honed katana after she tried to crawl in my mouth to feed and wouldn't let go. _Damn parasitic fairies. Always knew they couldn't be trusted._ At least she gave up the information Nik was looking for before she'd decided to feed off of me.

TBC…

* * *

**A/N:**

_Alp-luachra__ (__Irish__) - Parasitic fairy (Forgive me--I took a tiny bit of liberty with this legendary creature.)_

_Barbegazi__ (__Swiss__) - Dwarf with giant, snowshoe-like feet_


	9. Pimps and Nymphs

"Soulless Joe? I don't understand."

I tripped up the steps and looked down, fully expecting to see the grayed and fraying shoestrings on my sneakers completely undone and flapping around, but they remained firmly tied in their usual haphazard knots. I wobbled behind Nik as he entered our apartment, the pizza he carried emitting an aroma that would normally make me giddy with anticipation. Now I nearly wanted to weep in frustration because the scent did nothing more than twist my gnawing stomach into knots and not in a good way.

"Soulless Joe is just a pimp. Why would he want revenge on you? Why this?"

"Trust me—he's not 'just a' anything, Cal. He's a very dangerous man."

"But why you—why us?"

Niko sighed and put the pizza down in the middle of the table. He turned and retrieved two plates from the cupboard; loaded a piece on one and placed it in front of me. As he grabbed a Coke for me and a water for him out of the refrigerator, he asked, "You remember Syle?"

My brow furrowed as I struggled to recall through the increasing fog shrouding my mind. A dim bulb flickered to life. "Wasn't she that gorgeous blonde? A nymph, I think. You brought her here for a few hours like a month ago."

"Yes, about six weeks ago actually. She was one of his—girls. He specializes in non-human prostitutes. Rakes in a tremendous amount of money from human and non-human johns alike. Syle was one of his top earners. Always in high demand. A nymph with white-blonde hair is very rare."

"Was?"

"I helped her get out of the life. That's why she was here that day. It took some work and help from a network of people—beings—but we did it."

"Oh. So he wants revenge on you for helping her."

Niko sat down, and much to my surprise, helped himself to a piece of pizza. Pepperoni pizza. Will wonders never cease. He bit into it, chewed slowly, and swallowed before saying anything else.

"There's more."

I was surprised at the odd look that crossed my brother's face. I shifted in my seat and waited for him to continue.

"He wanted you."

I swallowed hard. "What?"

"He offered me a $100,000 to sell you into a life of prostitution. He somehow knew you were…"

"Half monster…"

Niko scowled fiercely at my interjection. "…half Auphe. I'll spare you his detailed, lurid plans on how you could make him an even wealthier man."

If the look on my brother's face was anything to go by, this was a very good thing. "What—only $100,000? I'm worth at least twice that!" I snarked despite the sickening knot settling in my gut. Yeah, okay, so that earned me a hard tap to the back of the head—exhaustion or no exhaustion. It was worth it to see Niko roll his eyes.

I picked at the mozzarella cheese on the slice of pizza congealing on my plate then I picked off a slice of pepperoni and started twirling it on the tabletop. "So since I'm sitting right here—you said no, which apparently pissed off the pimp, and _that's_ why Soulless Joe sent a dream weaver after me—you—us."

Nik's open hand abruptly dropped onto mine effectively putting an end to my ridiculous attempts to turn the piece of pepperoni into a top. "I didn't just say no; I backed up the rejection at sword point and a number of vehement threats. It appears I underestimated the depth of his ire." Niko's face was cold with fury.

A knock at the door interrupted our dinner conversation. While Niko went to answer it, I picked up my pizza and bit into it, hoping against hope that it would taste like something other than gummy paste. It didn't. I swallowed anyway to appease my growling belly and forced myself to down a second bite before dropping it on the plate and pushing it away. I vowed then and there that if we survived this, when it was all over, I was buying an extra large, double meat, supreme pizza and was gonna eat the whole thing in one sitting. Not only that, I was buying five chili cheese dogs and a twelve-pack of Coke to go with it. And I was so collecting on Jersey's offer of homemade cupcakes courtesy of Mrs. Jersey.

I glanced up when my brother re-entered the kitchen with Goodfellow at his heels. For a split second I thought I saw horns sprouting from the puck's forehead, but after I shook my head and blinked, they were gone.

"Well, well, Loman's back for more babysitting duty, I see." I studied his outfit of yellow silk and cashmere. "You know, if that outfit was any brighter a yellow, we'd all go blind."

"Good evening to you as well, Caliban."

I nudged the pizza box with an index finger. "Have some pizza." I knew Nik was looking between me and my discarded plate but he didn't say anything.

"I brought you something." Robin fished around in his pocket, extracting a small plastic bag. He tossed it on the table.

"What is that?" My voice blended perfectly with Niko's as we asked the exact same question.

"Herbs. A combination of ma huang, guarana, cola, and betel nuts."

I must have looked confused because Niko replied, "Stimulants. I don't think I'm crazy about Cal using that stuff straight."

"Niko, he might not have a choice. It's imperative that he stay awake. If he falls asleep, the dream weaver gains control."

"Hello? Sitting right here!" I waved my hand between the two of them. "Nik, I'll take them if I have to, okay?"

He wasn't happy. He gave me his patented big brother look. "Last resort."

"Yeah, I swear—last resort."

While Niko recounted all that we'd learned that day to Robin, I allowed myself to drift—to daydream about a bed, a pillow, and sleep instead of being the property of a dangerous and maniacal pimp and a life of forced prostitution. I shuddered. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a shadow but when I turned to look, it was gone. When it happened several more times, a shiver worked its way down my spine and I sucked in a breath. _Auphe…_

I pushed back from the table and stood so fast my chair went tumbling backward. "They're back! N-Nik, they're here again."

Niko immediately stood. "Cal, what's wrong? Who's here?"

My gaze was frantically roaming around the room. "Them…th-the…" Another shadow had me spinning around. "The Auphe!"

Warm hands landed on my shoulders, and my brother's face swam into my field of vision. "Cal, it's okay. They're not here. They're gone, remember?"

"N-No—it's them. I-I-I see their shadows—they're sneaking around. Or maybe it's Darkling—maybe he's back." I wasn't making any sense, but panic was clawing at the back of my neck.

Niko's grip tightened and he gave me a little shake. "Cal, I swear to you, nothing is here—no Auphe, no Darkling, nothing."

And just like that, I couldn't catch my breath—couldn't breathe. The room started to spin and my knees turned to jelly. I couldn't go back to Tumulus. I'd never survive. If I didn't remember anything else about that deep and endless blackness that had been my trip to Auphe Hell, I knew I'd never live through another trip there.

My ass met the hard plastic of a chair at the same time a super pungent aroma assaulted my nose. I coughed. The room stopped its Tilt-a-Whirl impression and settled—well, mostly settled.

"Put your head down between your knees and just breathe in and out." Niko's words were calm and soothing though I detected a thread of tension in them. I did as he instructed. A few seconds later, the pungent aroma was back and I jerked backward. "What IS that?"

Goodfellow, who was wielding the odiferous rag, responded. "Eucalyptus oil. Works like smelling salts when a person faints."

"I did not faint."

"Technically, no. But you came damn close."

"Super." I looked at Nik. "What the hell happened?"

"You were seeing things—shadows. One of the side effects of sleep deprivation. I think they triggered some flashbacks."

I groaned. "This just keeps getting better and better."

Robin picked up the plastic bag full of herbs off the table and shook it. "Now you know why I brought these."

TBC…


	10. Hello Muddah, Hello Fadduh

It was hour 22,215 into my enforced lesson in sleep deprivation. At least it felt like hour 22,215. In truth, I'd completely lost track of where we were in the 72-hour period. I just knew I was miserable. My limbs ached and burned, muscles jumping and jerking beneath my skin. My eyes felt like they'd been pierced by tiny slivers of glass, making every blink a lesson in abject discomfort and under the assault of the overhead light in the kitchen, I was blinking a lot.

"_**It's all your fault, you know."**_

I looked up at the sound of the whiskey-raw voice and saw my mother, Sofia, sitting across the table from me. "My fault? But I didn't do anything." My words sounded funny to my ears. "I didn't…"

"_**You exist."**_

"But…"

"_**I should have smothered you when you were just a little monster. I had many an opportunity. I'd stand over your crib, you know, and think about it—even grabbed a pillow a time or two. If I'd rid the world of you as I should've, my beloved firstborn son wouldn't be in mortal danger right now."**_

I looked at her oddly. When we were growing up, she'd never really treated Nik anymore beloved than she treated me—with the exception of sparing him the heavy-handed, often physical, discipline she preferred to dole out solely to me—but she looked so solemn and sincere, her shiny, dark ringlets cascading past her shoulders and eyes luminous, I found myself nodding in agreement. "You're right. Niko would be much better off if I didn't exist. He'd have a college degree. A good life. Instead of being stuck with me—a millstone around his neck."

"Cal? Who are you talking to?"

I jumped at the sound of my brother's voice and glanced over to where he stood in the doorway. When I shifted my gaze back across the table, Sofia was gone.

"Sofia. Didn't you see her sitting right there?"

Niko's eyebrows dived toward his Romanesque nose as he frowned in concern. I hated that I'd put that look of worry, along with lines of exhaustion of his own, on his face once again and thought about the truth of my words in response to Sofia moments ago.

"I've told you before, little brother, you are not a burden to me. A perpetual pain-in-the-ass—I'll grant you that." He dared to ruffle my dark hair. "But never a burden."

Goodfellow ghosted into the room behind my brother. "What's going on?"

"Cal was hallucinating about, and conversing with, our dead mother."

I opened my mouth and was about to protest when a flicker of movement caught my attention. I turned my head slightly and froze. My father, in all his monstrous Auphe glory, was crouched on the table before me. Skin so pale as to be translucent stretched taut over his narrow, sharp-chinned face. Stringy strands of hair so long they dusted the table top as he nodded his head just slightly. "Miiiine," he hissed and whistled around keen-edged teeth. His eyes, a deep, endless ruby, glowed with an unholy glee. "Boy. Mine. Forever." He smiled so wide I could count every single needle-pointed tooth.

I wanted to run—wanted to push the chair back and haul ass as fast and far away as my socked feet could take me. But I couldn't seem to move. My whole body felt as heavy as lead. I wanted to hide somewhere—anywhere—but that whole idea was hampered by my complete paralysis. When those long, tapered claws reached for me, I did the only thing I could—I closed my eyes.

Strong hands settled on my shoulders. "Lemme go!" I struggled against the hold, tried to stand, tried to escape, batted ineffectually at the restraint. "Lemme go!" I panted, heartbeat thumping wildly in my chest.

"Cal—it's okay—it's OKAY! There's nothing here! I swear to you there's nothing here!"

It was the soothing, protective voice more so than the words penetrated my panic. I slowly opened my eyes, blinked our drab little kitchen into focus to find Robin and Niko staring at me. A flush of embarrassment rose in my cheeks. My gaze locked on my sock-covered toes. "Sorry." The word was a mumbled whisper.

Warm fingers lifted my chin until my gaze coincided with Nik's. "It's not your fault."

I pulled away from his hold, unwilling to accept his words.

Robin, who had remained quiet till then, finally spoke. "Niko, I think—I think the Dream Weaver is luring him toward sleep. I can't say with certainty that I'm correct nor how it's doing so but now might be a good time to make a tea with those stimulants I brought. We've got another ten hours."

Nik looked less than happy as he boiled water and filled a stainless-steel tea ball with the weedy-looking stuff in the plastic bag. Five minutes later, he sat a cup before me containing the acrid-smelling "tea".

I picked up the cup, my hand shaking so badly some of the pale liquid cascaded over the sides and splashed on the table. I sipped the hot brew, felt my taste buds and throat rebel at the unpleasant taste. I coughed before trying again. The taste was still horrid, but I downed the drink with determination.

The effects were almost instantaneous. While my mind remained generally foggy with fatigue, my body got a jump start. Antsy, edgy, skittish—all were too tame to describe how I started to feel. Was there such a thing as pathologically jittery? If so, those two words quickly came to describe me to a tee. I don't remember much of the next ten hours beyond another two cups of "tea" and the feeling that my heart was going to beat right out of my chest. Niko later told me I spent almost the entire time pacing like a caged tiger, answering innumerable questions no one asked, arguing with nonexistent persons if not the walls themselves and generally driving my brother to distraction. Based on the gleam in his eyes when he eventually shared this information with me, I figured it was probably a good thing I didn't remember any of it.

Hours later, a knock at the door brought Goodfellow and Nik to their feet and me to a grinding halt mid-pace. Robin hurried to answer the door, looking about as freaked out as I'd ever seen him to that point. He returned moments later with a petite, ethereal brunette in tow. Dressed in a swirl of white and silver, she seemed to glow. "Gentlemen, this is Ealasaid. She's going to help us defeat the Dream Weaver. Ealasaid, this is Niko and Cal Leandros."

Her jade eyes glimmered with merriment and something far more mysterious. They briefly rested on Niko before zeroing in on me. She smiled. "'Tis my pleasure, boys. Now that the introductions are out of the way, what say we get to work and bring this ghastly beastie to his knees."

TBC…


	11. Dreamscape

Ealasaid opened a small bag that dangled from a cord on her wrist. I hadn't noticed it before but somewhat abstractly realized that it was a mixture of silver and white material like her dress and, therefore, blended in rather ingenuously. I watched, bleary-eyed, as she extracted a handful of deep burgundy flower petals from within its depths. She glided around our small living room, sprinkling petals in each of the four corners, her voice rising and falling in a singing chant.

I looked at Nik and raised a quizzical eyebrow. He looked back and gave a slight shrug. We both looked at Goodfellow who offered up a shrug of his own. "Ancient secrets, I guess."

Grains of salt followed the fragrant flower petals and her voice lowered to a whispery dirge. When she was finished, Ealasaid turned to us and smiled. "There now. Almost ready." She pulled a small vial from her bag. After wetting the little finger of her right hand with the liquid inside, she reached toward my forehead.

I shuffled backward a few steps.

Ealasaid smiled softly. "'Tis okay, young one. It is nothing more than harmless lavender oil. A conduit to slumber—amongst other things."

I could feel my cheeks flush slightly. But it was an irrefutable fact that strangers, even ones as beautiful as Ealasaid, made me a little nervous at the best of times. Falling back when one was reaching toward me was an instilled action.

She stepped forward and made an 'X' on my forehead, the pungent aroma of lavender filling my overly sensitive nose. I fought the ridiculously strong urge to sneeze all over her.

She must have sensed something because she laughed, her jade eyes twinkling. She tapped my cheek gently before turning to Niko, and unlike me, he stood completely still while she drew an 'X' on his forehead with the oil.

Stepping back, she motioned at Nik and Robin with her hands. "If you two gentlemen will push this furniture aside, we can proceed."

The pair quickly did as she asked, clearing as much space as they could in the center of the floor. When they were done, she nodded approvingly. "Perfect. Now, Cal, I want you to lie here on the floor—on your back with your head pointed toward me."

I hesitated, glanced at my brother then lay down exactly as she instructed, wiggling around to try and get comfortable on the old, scuffed hardwood floor. Sadly, it was a wasted effort. Certainly the hardwood floor was no well-used bed.

From my prone position, I watched Ealasaid step up to Niko and place her palms on each side of his face. She stared into his eyes and intoned softly, "Proeliator defensor vado. Evinco phasmatis hostilis." Being an apt student of Latin, Niko nodded gravely. Me—being quite inept at the ancient language—could only guess what she said.

"Now, Niko, you must bring me your weapon of choice to take with you."

I watched as my brother presented her with his Katana and saw him tense slightly when she ran her fingers up and down the blade before placing a dab of lavender oil on the hilt. When Ealasaid finished, she kissed the sword, bowed deeply to Nik, and placed it carefully, almost reverently, back into his hands. "Strike deep and true."

"I intend to."

"Now lay here, near your brother. Keep your weapon tightly held."

I watched silently as Niko settled next to me.

"I need you both to join hands."

I felt Niko's warm, calloused hand envelope mine, much like it used to when I was a four-year-old crossing the street. Despite the surprising good memories the action invoked, I couldn't hold back some snark. "Awww, does this mean we're dating, Cyrano? Just don't try and get fresh. I'm not that kinda boy." In lieu of a tap to the back of my head that he often employed to keep me in line, Nik's hand tightened around mine until my fingers went numb and I yelped. The grip eased immediately once his big-brother message was delivered.

Ealasaid let out a slightly exasperated sigh. "Boys, behave!" she admonished with an overtone of merriment in her voice. Her long, gauzy skirt swished as she knelt at our heads. "Close your eyes." She placed a hand on each of our foreheads, touching the lavender oil. "Ut reperio justicia in somnus. Victoria super somnium nex. Vado. Vado. Vado."

When I next opened my eyes, it was dark. I lay still for a moment, assessed my surroundings. Sensing no threat, I sat and looked around. Slowly, the environment lightened to a foggy gray. Seconds later, Niko materialized in my field of vision. I watched as he blinked and then slowly rose to his feet. He held his Katana tightly in his right hand, and there was a glowing white aura surrounding him.

I rose to my feet and eyed him from head to toe. "Um…why…why are you glowing?"

"You tell me—we're in your head—or dream—after all…"

"Oh. Right. Uh…never mind then." There was no way I could admit to him that the aural glow was probably a symbol of a little brother's hero worship of his protective older brother. "So what do we do now?"

"I don't know." Niko's gaze roamed around the grayish fog. "I assume the dream weaver would simply find us if we wait here, but I'd rather be a little more proactive."

"Oookay. Meaning?"

"Let's walk around."

Niko picked a direction at random and confidently strode away, leaving me trailing slightly behind. I couldn't shake the vague sense of uneasiness that had settled determinedly on my shoulders. Our steps rang tinny and hollow in the swirling miasma.

After several minutes, a massive, reinforced iron door with large, heavy-duty locks appeared before us. It was covered with ropy vines thick with thorns and intertwined with knotted sprigs of wormwood. Hard, muffled thuds emanated from behind the iron aperture, and the door vibrated with each impact. I stopped in my tracks and swallowed a gasp.

Nik looked at me with a frown. "Cal?"

I licked my lips. "Yeah?"

"What's behind that door?"

I stared at the door, mute, for several long seconds. Finally finding my voice, I answered, "I'll give you one guess and it's not Disneyland."

"Tumulus." It wasn't a question.

"Got it in one." A shiver tripped its way down my spine. I ran a trembling hand through my dark hair; my eyes remained locked on the door.

"Come on. Let's go." Niko wrapped a hand around my upper arm and pulled gently.

My feet didn't want to work, and I stumbled.

"Cal, it's okay. I'm here, remember?"

I finally found my footing, and we hurried in a different direction.

As we walked away, the gray nothingness lightened and began to fade away, leaving only telltale wisps behind. We found ourselves walking along a nondescript hallway with dark wooden doors on both the right and left. Some were fully open or ajar, others tightly closed.

The air around us was suddenly filled with the tantalizing aroma of grilling meat and pungent corresponding condiments. Niko and I approached the first open door and stopped, peering inside. A shiny silver food cart was inside, its grill full of hamburgers and hotdogs. My stomach growled. Next to the food cart sat a battered trashcan, overflowing with all manner of fruits and vegetables, tofu, beans. Pretty much all the stuff Nik made me eat.

I felt the weight of Niko's gaze settle on me. Turning, I shrugged and grinned. "Hey, you already know how I feel about that stuff you call food."

My brother ruefully shook his head. "Why am I not surprised you dream about food?"

A giggling from further down the hallway grabbed our attention, and we moved toward it. We'd only taken about a half a dozen steps when suddenly Robin Goodfellow—a very naked Robin Goodfellow—streaked past us, his curly hair bouncing and swaying in the resultant breeze. Behind him came a bevy of equally naked beauties—some human, some not. A few were trailing colorful silken scarves from their fingertips. All were giggling and batting their eyelashes—if they had them. Naked Robin swerved left into an open room, the scampering females followed. After the last one crossed the threshold, the door slammed shut behind them.

Again I could feel the weight of Niko's gaze. I couldn't help it; I blushed. "It's not what you think," I mumbled. "They're part of this recurring nightmare I sometimes have."

Nik held up a hand. "Never mind. I just better not be anywhere near that naked puck in your head."

Before I could reply in any way, the lights in the hallway flickered, and a dark mass coalesced a few feet away from us. The mass condensed and elongated, took on the vague shape of a man. It was the dream weaver.

"Nik." I swallowed hard, flashes of previous nightmares scrolling through my mind.

Niko's sword was already poised to strike.

"_You think you can protect him?"_ the dream weaver bellowed then laughed.

A boom of thunder had less impact on my eardrums and I covered my ears.

"_You are nothing. He is mine to destroy!"_

"I don't think so." My brother's voice was ice cold.

"_Perhaps you should think again."_

A knife suddenly appeared in my hand.

"_Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. Killhim. Killhimkillhimkillhim,"_ the assassin chanted hypnotically.

I took an involuntary step toward Niko. Appalled, I gasped. Nausea swirled in my belly and my throat closed. I fought to push words past my lips. "N-N-N-No!" I dropped the knife.

It reappeared in my hand.

"_Then kill yourself."_

Suddenly, it was my mother, Sophia, standing there before me.

Of its own volition, my hand turned the blade of the knife toward my belly.

"Cal!" Nik wrapped his free hand around my wrist.

His touch broke the compulsion and I again dropped the knife.

Niko lunged forward, wielding his blade. The fluid form of our mother slithered aside.

All the doors along the hallway snapped open and slammed shut repeatedly. Everything blurred for a moment. When it cleared, we were in the same hallway but the walls were solid. No doors, only an open window directly behind me. Without warning, an invisible force pushed against me, forcing me back a few steps. Another strong push came. It was hard enough to knock me off balance and through the window.

"CAL!"

My fingers gripped the rough stone windowsill with every bit of strength I possessed. I dangled in the middle of a black abyss.

"Nik!"

My fingers were going numb. Above me I heard the ongoing sounds of battle. I heard Sophia again, taunting Niko. Then my Auphe father hissing and spitting, doing plenty of taunting of his own. My grip on the stone slipped.

On the other side of the window, there suddenly came a preternatural screech of epic proportions. My ears rang with its intensity but I still heard Niko's yell of "Vos es profugus!" Another scream sounded then died away.

For some odd reason, I knew exactly what he said. _You are banished._

I would have been ecstatic at my brother's apparent success, but fingers went completely numb, my grip loosened despite my desperate scrabbling, leaving my fingertips scraped raw.

I fell.

* * *

"CAL! CAL, WAKE THE HELL UP! Dammit, don't you do this to me!"

I felt someone—no, not someone, Nik—shaking me. I moaned.

"Cal?"

My eyelids fluttered as I fought to open them. Finally, I succeeded in getting them to half mast. "Wha'?" My brother was kneeling next to me.

Niko pulled me up into a quick hug. I squirmed, and he let me go.

Feeling a warm tickle on my upper lip, I reached to brush it away. My fingers encountered a warm, tacky fluid. My nose was bleeding. I squinted at Nik and then looked around the room, taking in Robin and Ealasaid who hovered nearby. They all looked worried. "Wha' happened?"

"Don't you remember?"

I winced. "Oh yeah. The dream…the dream weaver…the window. I fell."

"And almost died."

"Just in the dream."

"No. When I came back, you weren't breathing. We couldn't get you to respond." Niko's voice cracked.

"Oh . . . sorry." I yawned hard enough to crack my jaw and make my eyes water. "Hey, Nik?"

"Yes?"

"Can I go to sleep now? Like real sleep—in my bed?" The days of sleep deprivation had caught up with me—hard.

"Yeah, Cal, you can go to sleep. But only for an hour and then I'm waking you up for PT."

I looked at him, horrified.

He laughed and tapped the bag of my head.

Realizing he was joking—a rare occurrence for my brother—I rubbed at my eyes. "Jerk."

"Go to bed, Cal. You get a free day—sleep as long as you need to."

I slowly rose to my feet, wobbling only slightly. "Hey, Nik?"

"Yes, Cal?" It was said on a sigh.

"Call Jersey while I'm sleeping. Tell him I'm claiming my double chocolate cupcakes tomorrow."

"You going to dream about those too?"

"Maybe," I grunted, "Probably. It's sure as hell better than having nightmares about him in his birthday suit." I pointed at Goodfellow and shuffled out of the room.

My bed was calling my name.

_**Fin**_

* * *

Translations:

Proeliator defensor vado = Warrior, Defender Go.

Evinco phasmatis hostilis = Defeat ghost enemy.

Ut reperio justicia in somnus = To find justice in sleep

Victoria super somnium nex = Victory over dream death

Vado = Go


End file.
